


'Til the End of the Line

by sunlightsmarrow



Series: Nobody Said It Was Easy [1]
Category: Captain America
Genre: Friendship, Gen, M/M, Post-Winter Soldier, fix you, literally right after the credits rolled, the scientist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 05:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1457575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunlightsmarrow/pseuds/sunlightsmarrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's slowly breaking down and Steve finds him just as the leaves the exhibit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Til the End of the Line

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for itty bitty typos. I got back from the Winter Soldier yesterday and I was talking to the people I was with and was like "I need a two-hour extension of this movie right now." So here's some of it. There might be more to come that gets more slashy.

The glass was transparent, but that didn’t mean that Bucky couldn’t see his own reflection staring back, a more scraggly impression of the monochromatic mug before him. He was reading about himself, and slowly it all came back: the expo by Stark, seeing Steve for the first time bulked up, and finally, when he tried to grasp his hand on that speeding train. ‘Til the end of the line…he sighed and moved on from his face to keep reading up on Steve. He didn’t know where to start now that his mind had gotten back to…normal, which was a name for it. He remembered pain, and lots of it. Impossible amounts of pain. Bloodshot eyes. His arm was broken, even if he had managed to set it against a stick or something, but he was a refugee. No one would take him, he knew, not without recognition of that damn arm. Maybe the line should’ve ended a while ago. 

His metallic hand clenched in his pocket. He knew he was getting furtive glances from a lot of people, with his hat too low over his eyes to keep people from recognizing him. He wandered out into the hall. He was getting hungry and had no money. He licked his lips and watched the people walking by, some passively looking at him, others clutching their children a little tighter. He knew he was a monster. Those killing instincts were still lurking and it would take a little before he got himself back together. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Smithsonian will be closing in fifteen minutes. Please finish your stay and make your way to the exits. Thank you for learning with us.” The intercom was loud over the din of adult voices and awe-filled children. It was deafening to Bucky’s over-sensitive ears.

He heard someone whistling. It was a tune he vaguely remembered. Slowly, he turned he head, his eyes wide and scared that someone was going to recognize him if he lifted his face. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had to run, but where? He soon found the pursed lips and blonde hair of the man who used to be his friend.

Bucky turned on his heel and walked away. His boots clicked on the tile floor and something about it reminded him of the electric shocks when they’d wipe his memory. That first time that he and Steve fought, he knew as soon as he heard him talking. The Bucky inside made his mettle, clawing down the Winter Soldier bullshit that had made Steve his ‘mission.’

He didn’t need to see Steve’s smiling face, or the shiners on his cheekbones, nor remember that he was the one that caused them. He picked up the pace. A group rushing by dislodged his hat. It wasn’t safe to keep going, so he used his foot to kick it up and he flipped it in his hand, and let it fall to the floor again, staring at it in horror. Like the knife. The knife he used to try and kill his best friend. He was frozen, staring at the ground. His breath was coming heavily and he was shaking. He felt his walls crumbling farther as the emotions that he had to stick away from Hydra came tumbling through this hole in his wall. He fell to his knees in the middle of the hall. His vision tunneled and the thought didn’t even cross his mind that people might become concerned at such a sight.

Bucky let his hair fall over his face and hide his light colored eyes. He didn’t blink, even when he heard the rushing of footsteps and the body that was crouching in front of him. His lower lip was trembling and slowly, Steve reached out to touch him. As soon as those fingers touched his shoulder and neck, Bucky was lost. He fell forward into Steve’s chest and screamed and moaned and beat his fists. Tears didn’t rush down his cheeks, but he rolled out of Steve’s embrace and staggered like an old insane man to the doors, bursting forth and into the suffocating heat. He came to the railing and tensed his shoulders. His arm snapped the iron like a twig.

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice was soft and Bucky could hear him closing in. Just like the Hyrda doctors, coming closer and closer, trying to convince him that doing this or doing that would make him a good person or worthwhile.

“Don’t waste your time,” he shouted, pulling the iron railing from its facets and hurdling it across the expanse between them. It wasn’t on purpose and suddenly, he shrank back to be very small. He tried to regulate his breathing, but his ribs were expanding too quickly against his thighs and he wanted to throw up.

When he looked up, Steve was peeking out from under his arm and staring at Bucky like Bucky imagined he would have looked at Steve back so long ago. All of those kids who would beat up Steve were probably dead, and he swore to himself to protect him and now look at what he had done. “Please,” he uttered, his voice cracking on the silent steps. 

“What do you need?” Steve was standing straighter now, coming a little closer. 

“Kill me.” Bucky rose to his knees and stared up at Steve like a dog who needed a good beating, or conversely like one that wanted a treat. Steve’s tentative look softened and it reminded Bucky of too many things. “I can’t do this.”

“I’ll do it with you, if that’s what you want.” Steve had stepped forward and was crouching in front of him again. He was offering his hand. The only good one that Bucky could really use was his metal one and he pulled it out and flexed it in the dimming sunlight. It reflected back in his eyes and he squinted. 

“You’re not dying on my account.” Bucky’s works were slow and breaking in his throat. “Not when you were so close before.” He clutched his hand back to himself, but he did stand. This time Bucky looked at Steve like the friend he once was.

“You’re still Bucky.” Steve was looking him in the eye, now. “Just like old times. Give it a little. We’ll get you back.” His stoic face looked like Bucky’s well-being was now his mission. The brunette couldn’t talk. He was still having difficulty breathing. The sun was in his eyes. “Let me be your conscience until you can get yours back.”

Bucky flinched and cast his eyes down again. A warmth was spreading through him that he hadn’t felt for over fifty years. It was debilitating, spreading through his growling stomach and icy chest. Bucky felt his mouth twitching into an odd shape: a smile. The relief in Steve’s eyes was permeable. “Just like old times,” he said. It had been so long since he had a reason to smile, let alone joke. This time, he was the one reaching his hand out for Steve to grasp. They shook hands and curled into each other’s bodies in a hug. Something in the back of his mind was nagging as remnants of the walls remained, but for the time being, Bucky found the strength to ignore them. His smile found a home on his face and when they pulled away from each other, Bucky looked at Steve with clear eyes. 

“Now how’s about we get you cleaned up, huh? It’s best to start fresh, I can say.” Steve gave Bucky the same grin that he remembered from sixty years ago. Bucky hesitated, pushing the hair out of his eyes. He couldn’t feel anything, really, with his mechanical hand, but he still touched the stubble that he knew was there. This time, cleaning the slate wouldn’t hurt as bad.


End file.
